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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544666">Eating Snowflakes With Plastic Forks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick'>trashcangimmick</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Class Difference, Classism, Daddy Kink, Ex-Convict Billy Hargrove, Feminization, Fuckbuddies, Landscaper Billy Hargrove, M/M, Masochism, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Spanking, Spit As Lube, midwestern gothic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:34:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,438</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve’s not proud of the way he reacts to Billy. He’s not proud of the way his skin flushes and his heart beats too fast when Billy calls him <em>Daddy’s boy.</em> Steve is especially not proud of what happens in the pool shed. But it’s always kinda inevitable when Billy appears out of nowhere, smacks Steve’s ass, and says, “I’m on break, sweetheart.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>harringrove for BLM</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Eating Snowflakes With Plastic Forks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/printboogie/gifts">printboogie</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Special thanks to printboogie!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Steve’s mother left, his father hired a housekeeper. Like, a full-time one who cooks, cleans, grocery shops, and does the laundry. Steve felt a little weird about it. Like this new woman coming in was a paid replacement for everything his mother used to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then again, maybe it’s not that different from his dad hiring hookers to replace his mother long before the actual divorce. Joshua Harrington has never met a problem money couldn’t solve. Except maybe Steve. Money can’t fix “lazy little moron” syndrome, which is what his father says Steve has. Sure, he could probably buy Steve a spot at a nice college. But Steve would certainly drop out or get expelled due to academic failure. Steve’s bad with books. He tries. Facts he doesn’t find interesting just don’t stick in his brain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Steve is basically his father’s personal assistant. Helping him arrange meetings and take clients out to dinner. Steve might not be smart, but he’s good at boosting the egos of stodgy businessmen and telling them exactly what they want to hear. After all, he’s been practicing his whole life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The maid, Charlene, is nice enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The landscaper, Billy Hargrove, less so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s been a few years since high school. Old rivalries should be dead. But Billy Hargrove is still a complete asshole and Steve can never stop himself from taking the bait. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So basically the first day on the job Billy strolled up while Steve was sunbathing by the pool and well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Must be nice to live in such a big house with nobody but your Daddy. He got you payin’ rent? Or are you just the full-time trophy boy.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, hi there, Billy. I hadn’t heard you were out of prison already. Did you manage to get your old trailer back?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As a general rule, Steve doesn’t enjoy being mean. It’s just kind of his only defense mechanism when it comes to Billy Hargrove. Steve’s not proud of the way he reacts to Billy. He’s not proud of the way his skin flushes and his heart beats too fast when Billy calls him </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy’s boy.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve is especially not proud of what happens in the pool shed. But it’s always kinda inevitable when Billy appears out of nowhere, smacks Steve’s ass, and says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m on break, sweetheart.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Steve tells him to fuck off. Most of the time, he stumbles towards the shed like he’s unfamiliar with the actual length of his legs. He’s dizzy by the time the door shuts. When Billy grabs him and manhandles him into position, Steve’s heart thuds so fast it must be audible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a Thursday. No big meetings today. Joshua is out with one of his call girls. Charlene hasn’t left yet, but Steve is the only one who ever thanks or tips her, so she’s not a snitch. It’s occurred to Steve on more than one occasion that he could invite Billy inside. They could do this on a couch, or even a bed. But somehow, that would make it too real. It wouldn’t be appropriately sectioned off from the rest of their lives. Billy and Steve are oil and water. They will never truly mix. Too different in too many ways. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve’s skin is soft, smooth besides a few little moles. Billy’s is rough with scars, calluses and stick and poke tattoos. Fluffy brown hair to curly blonde. Smooth face to a scruffy beard. Brown eyes to blue. Steve is an inch taller but Billy is so much bulkier, all the way from his broad shoulders to his thick thighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy slams Steve against the rough wooden wall and ducks in like it’s for a kiss. At the last moment he changes course. Just mouths along Steve’s jaw. Depriving him. Steve suppresses the whimper. He’s still in wet swim trunks that do nothing to hide his erection. Billy’s in the usual dirty tank top and jeans. Covered in grass stains and sweat. He smells like greenery and earth. Like something wild. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hands are dirty. He grabs a fistful of Steve’s hair and tugs just hard enough to make it twinge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You been a good boy this week?” His voice rumbles, low with an unmistakable edge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve’s not quite in that place yet. So he huffs and squirms. Trying to rut against Billy’s thigh. Billy shifts his leg back. Pins Steve’s hip more firmly against the wall with his free hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like to repeat myself.” Billy tugs Steve’s hair harder. “I ain’t seen you since Monday. That’s a long time for a little slut like you. If you’ve been touching what’s mine, you’d better be honest about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve bites his lip. He’s starting to feel dreamy. Teetering on the edge, wondering if it’s more fun to lie or to play along. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy nips at Steve’s earlobe. Steve’s breath hitches. He’s always been so sensitive there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been playing with your little dick, huh?” Billy does it again. Licks along the shell of Steve’s ear. It’s not little. It’s bigger than Billy’s. But that’s beside the point.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh.” Steve folds. He’s tingly all over and Billy has barely touched him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about your pussy?” That’s what Billy calls it. Steve’s ass. His boy pussy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve nods. Billy bites lower on his neck and it makes him shiver. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. Since you told the truth, I’ll go a little easier on you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s so quick. He flips Steve around and presses his face against the wall. He tugs Steve’s swim trunks down so they pool around his ankles. He holds onto Steve’s hip, standing beside him. Then smacks his ass. Hard. It’s a pink bloom of pain. Prickling sensation. Steve’s cock twitches. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Joshua never spanked him. Punishments always had to do with taking toys away or sending him to bed without dinner. Spanking would have required human contact. Joshua Harrington doesn’t do hugs, kisses, or even pats on the head. When Steve graduated high school (just barely), he got a stiff handshake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy strikes fast and precise. He hits the same spot three times in a row and Steve whimpers. He’s too hot all over. His dick is getting shiny at the tip. He can’t help himself. He reaches out for Billy’s shoulder. Just for something to hold onto. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s OK. This is for your own good. But Daddy’s gotcha.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve’s head swims. He feels skin striking skin. Feels the sting but it’s a little detached. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first time Billy said </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the first time they fucked. After weeks of him calling Steve, Daddy’s Boy as an insult, the tension finally snapped. Steve wound up on his hands and knees, concrete scraping his skin while Billy fucked into him harsh and mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m your Daddy now. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s easy to lose track of time. Steve’s drowning in his own physicality. In the waves of sharp pain tapering to a dull ache. Billy’s breath on his neck, reeking like an ashtray but somehow still enticing. Steve notices when the blows stop. Mostly because of the spit-slick fingers pressing against his asshole.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, at least you’re still tight for me.” Billy sounds pleased. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve’s glad he can rest most of his weight against the wall. Before Billy, he thought the whole ‘knees going weak’ thing was an exaggeration. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More spit. Billy is usually rough. He’s got two fingers inside Steve already, tugging at his rim, opening him up. Steve’s breathing shaky. It doesn’t exactly feel good. It feels a lot. His ass is throbbing. He wonders if there will be bruises. Probably not. Billy didn’t use his belt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Steve wonders why Billy likes hurting him. Wonders if it’s the same as a punch in the face, if it’s from anger, or something else. Maybe Billy hates him because Steve’s dad pays minimum wage for hard labor, and it’s not like a felon has a lot of leverage to ask for more. Maybe Billy wants to prove he’s hung onto some of the power he had over Steve in high school. Maybe Billy just has an intrinsic drive towards violence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as often, Steve wonders why he likes being hurt. He doesn’t have a good answer. Maybe it’s not that deep. Maybe they’re both just horny, and lonely, and opposites attract.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy doesn’t bother with a third finger. He spits some more. Steve heard a zipper. Then the thick head of Billy’s cock is pressing against Steve’s ass. He slides forward. Steve gasps. Billy’s hands are on his hips, gripping tight. Billy’s mouth is on his neck. Kissing so gently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shhh, shhh, just relax baby.” He sinks all the way in. Presses his whole body up against Steve. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve’s stretched to the limit. It hurts the same way as the spanking. Sharp dissolving to dull. He’s full. So full. It almost makes him nauseous. Delirious. He wants more. He’s the one to roll his hips, rock back on Billy’s dick. Billy hisses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck yeah. Work that pussy. You’re always hungry for Daddy’s dick, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Steve whimpers. The degradation of it makes him shudder. Because he’s bringing this on himself. Billy’s not making him do anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It tugs at something in Billy, too. Because he starts fucking into Steve hard and deep. Steve’s hands scrabble at the wall. There’s nothing to grip. Billy keeps it slow, at least. Harsh, rhythmic pulses, that make Steve see stars. He’s moaning. His dick is throbbing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>good.</span>
  </em>
  <span> When he hits the right spot, Steve doesn’t care about anything else in the world. He just wants to be used. He wants to surrender to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not a smooth glide. Steve’s body clutches at Billy on the way out. He already feels rubbed raw. He feels dirty. Billy bites him on the shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Such a good boy,” Billy coos. “Take it like you were made for it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The praise is enough to make Steve feel drunk. Everything about Billy is overwhelming. All encompassing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me who owns this cunt.” Billy starts to gather a little speed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their skin slaps together in a whole new way, reigniting the pain of the previous punishment. Steve has to grit his teeth. His eyes are tearing up. He’s in heaven. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mon.” Billy’s nails dig into Steve’s bony hips. “Who do you belong to?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s usually an ambiguous question. Steve’s never had a whole lot of agency. He wouldn’t make it very far on his own. That’s been obvious for years. He’s got a pretty smile and good hair. If his dad kicked him out, maybe he could find some middle-aged divorcée to play trophy husband for. Maybe he’d wind up in a dead end job just like Billy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In moments like this, though, it’s all so simple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Say it,” Billy snarls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve barely whispers. “Belong to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s right. You’re Daddy’s little slut.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m the only one who gets this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re fucking mine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s such a strange little song. Steve knows he shouldn’t read into it. For reasons beyond whether or not Billy means it, which he probably doesn’t. If they ever got caught, Billy would get fired and Steve may or may not get disinherited. Would probably depend on if he lied and said Billy forced him. Joshua Harrington has friends in high places. He could buy Billy a one-way ticket straight back to prison. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They aren’t quite Romeo and Juliet, but it’s still complicated. Probably doomed to end in tragedy. Since when has that stopped people from playing with matches?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy wraps a hand around Steve’s leaking dick and strokes it. Steve’s about to lose it. He can feel the curling heat. His whole body tenses. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You gonna come for me, baby?” Billy murmurs so soft, almost sweet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s enough to send Steve reeling. He squeezes down so tight Billy has to stop moving. Steve shoots all over the wall, shuddering, whining like a bitch. He’s never gotten off as hard as he does with Billy. He used to think most orgasms were the same. Didn’t know they could be so intense. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy starts moving again as Steve twitches with the aftershocks. It’s rough. Artless. Steve feels like he’s floating above himself. Billy grunts and goes still. He wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and holds onto him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re both sweaty. Panting. The air in the shed is humid, almost stifling. Steve will probably get back in the pool. He’d offer Billy a shower. But Billy has to go back to work. He’ll be hot and filthy again in no time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy slides out with a slick noise. Steve can feel the jizz dribbling down his thigh. Sometimes Billy zips his jeans up and leaves without saying anything. Today he grabs at Steve, rearranges him. Steve’s back hits the wall where it’s still sticky. Billy smears their mouths together. He kisses like Tommy did in middle school, before Carol trained him not to use so much tongue and spit. It’s messy. Raw. Eager. Steve returns the enthusiasm as best he can when he feels so boneless and exhausted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See you Saturday.” Billy grins when they break apart. “I’m replanting the rose bushes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Steve’s voice is thready. Unstable. “I’ll be around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y’know… if you can’t keep your grubby little hands off your own dick for that long, you could always stop by the trailer. So long as you’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>above</span>
  </em>
  <span> that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s got all the trappings of an insult. Down to the half-sneer that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. Billy Hargrove is many things and vulnerable isn't one of them. Usually. There’s a sudden tension in the air. A question not phrased like one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carol lived in the trailer park for a few years when her mom was between husbands. Steve’s been there. He and Tommy used to be dicks about it. They were always kind of dicks to Carol. She was a cunt right back. At the end of the day, she still spread like butter. For both of them. Maybe Steve liked to watch more than participate, but that wasn’t a thing any of them acknowledged. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I will.” Steve shrugs. “If your esteemed neighbors aren’t gonna give you shit about having a snob like me over for ‘dinner’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean. You will be eating something.” Billy winks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve lightly shoves Billy in the shoulder. He bends down to pull his swim trunks back on. Billy buttons his jeans. He’s still lingering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow, I’ll be done at the Rickland’s by like six thirty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“OK.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Billy nods. Like something's just been settled. He ducks in for one more kiss. Then he’s gone, the shed door creaking shut behind him. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title from 'Trailer Trash' by Modest Mouse.</p><p>Check out <a href="https://harringrovetrashh.tumblr.com/post/619750186613440512/im-back-again-i-know-youre-probably-sick-of-me">Harringrove for BLM.</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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